


Desperate in any reality

by soy_em



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rough Sex, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-05
Updated: 2020-04-05
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:54:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23497090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soy_em/pseuds/soy_em
Summary: Having fled the end of his own world, Sam finds himself in a new reality where the Winchester brothers are well... more than brothers. He can't help his fascination and eventually, he gets caught.
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester, Sam Winchester/Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Comments: 29
Kudos: 154





	Desperate in any reality

**Author's Note:**

  * For [NaughtyPastryChef](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NaughtyPastryChef/gifts), [awabubbles](https://archiveofourown.org/users/awabubbles/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Sam, Dean and Sam](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/578977) by Awabubbles. 



> Based on [extremely hot art](https://twitter.com/awaafterdark/status/1246470467931832327) from the always amazing @Awaafterdark 
> 
> Thanks to Kris @nerdypastrychef for the extremely quick and helpful beta, and the title. Any remaining mistakes my own.

It takes Sam a while to spot it. Everything is so very different at first - they’re literally, amazingly in a different universe. Dad has disappeared, hopefully to another world rather than caught in the ether as he and Dean had been for so long, and their counterparts here are so alike and yet so utterly different it makes Sam’s head spin - and that’s saying something, with the life Sam’s led, jetting around the world to deal with Hunter Corps most eye-catching cases. 

His new counterpart - OtherSam, he names him in his head - is _rough_. It’s a poor way to describe the man’s calloused skin, messy hair and lumberjack outfit, and yet Sam can’t think of a better word. And that doesn’t even compare to OtherDean - the first time the man belches in front of him, Sam thinks he might faint from shock, never mind the way he shoves food into his face without any care for savouring the array of tastes on his palate. 

So it’s fair to say there’s a lot clouding Sam’s mind, his normally sharp intuition dulled by a new experience every few minutes. But once things have settled, once he’s used to the way the sound echoes in the underground bunker, the array of weapons and knowledge stockpiled just for the Winchesters, the isolation of their lives - it all clicks into place. OtherSam and OtherDean aren’t just closer than normal brothers like he and Dean are. They…. Have sex. Together. With each other. Exclusively. 

Oh. 

My. 

***

How could they, he thinks. They’re brothers. 

But it’s a weak thought, even in his own mind, outrage manufactured from expectation rather than true feeling. They’re reasonably discrete about it but it’s clear that their closest companions, the angel and the nephilim they treat like a son, are unsurprised by the intimacy of the touches Sam starts to pick up on: a thumb brushed across the back of a neck, a hand around a waist, fingers carding through hair. They’re either utterly oblivious or completely unbothered. And if an angel doesn’t care…

It becomes something of an addiction, watching for those touches. He and Dean touch a lot too, but it’s all petty little shoves and squabbles, the pokings of a lifetime spent in close proximity. There’s no tenderness to them, not like these. 

Once he’s started watching for the touches, he notices the noises. 

The first night in the bunker, OtherSam had led them to a long corridor, an array of rooms to choose from. He’d selected the one next to Dean, of course, perplexed by the narrow, single bed and the sparseness of the furnishings. There was nothing superfluous in those rooms, not a single touch of the little luxuries Sam fills his own life with. Tossing and turning on the flat, uncomfortable mattress the first night, trying to tuck his legs into a space not made for them, had distracted him both from the fact that OtherSam had left the corridor entirely to find his own sleeping space, and from the faint noises he would eventually notice as he tuned into their dopplegangers. 

The noises are faint, but unmistakable. At first he thinks it’s Dean, in the adjacent room, undertaking one of Dean’s favourite activities - poor Dean must be suffering from the lack of the pretty, willing, adoring girls that throw themselves at the Hunter Corp heir. Sam certainly misses the equivalent pretty boys making eyes at him - he doesn’t indulge nearly as often as his brother, but he can admit to himself that he preens under the attention.

But a lifetime of shared space means that Sam knows Dean’s sounds as well as his own (that’s the reason, proximity, he definitely never listens on purpose) and these are different. They sound a little like _him_.

It’s night four when he slips from the horrible bed, restless and hot, pulse racing for no reason he can pinpoint, to pad softly down the hall. OtherSam and OtherDean sleep down the hall parallel and Sam pretends to himself that he’s heading for the big communal shower room at the end (communal showers, were these people _savages_ ) as he slinks along it. 

There’s no hiding the noise now, no pretending it’s anything other than what it is. The slap of flesh on flesh, rhythmic grunting sounds and the slam of a headboard against the wall - the sounds of two people having a _very_ good time. 

Their door is slightly ajar and Sam edges towards it, bare feet silent on the cold tile. He doesn’t know what to expect, mind racing, hands trembling and sweat beading along his hairline. He shouldn’t want to even see, he knows, and yet this feels inevitable, the need to know bleeding out from some deeply buried part of his mind. 

He peeps around the door frame and only stifles his gap with a hand rapidly pressed to his mouth. Not that they would hear him anyway, he thinks, slightly hysterical. 

OtherDean is covering OtherSam on the bed, buttocks moving rhythmically as he thrusts, freckles visible in the low light of a bedside lamp, sweat gleaming in the hollow of his back. Sam licks his lips compulsively. His counterpart is sprawled on the bed, one hand pressed to the headboard to keep his head from crashing into the wall, long legs spread out around OtherDean. He’s gasping, thick hair tangled and a livid bite mark visible just under the hairline. His other hand claws at the sheets, but as Sam watches, he lets go, his whole weight held against the headboard as his other hand sneaks lower. 

“Don’t you fucking dare,” OtherDean growls. “You come on my cock or you don’t come at all.”

Luckily, the whine OtherSam makes hides the whimper that escapes Sam’s own mouth. He’s never had sex like this - all his lovers have treated him like something precious, the beloved, adored heir to Hunter Corp. Sex has always been soft and slow on 300 threadcount sheets, men taking care not to damage the son of one of the richest men in America. 

He’s startled out of his musing by the sound of a sharp slap, echoing around the room. 

“I said _no_ , Sam.”

It’s followed by a series of whimpers and gasps, OtherSam begging and pleading, but OtherDean is immovable. Sam’s frozen, waiting to see if his doppleganger can do it, can come from fucking alone - a feat Sam’s never had to worry about.

It doesn’t take long, OtherDean’s movements soon speeding up. Sam’s eyes rove over the strong muscles in his legs, the meat of his ass, the way his hands grip so tight, one bruising into OtherSam’s hip and the other tangled in the mass of curls, tugging OtherSam back onto his cock. OtherDean is losing control now and Sam concentrates on his face, on the razor-sharp cheekbone, the pearly white tooth biting into a ridiculously plush lip as he concentrates on fucking his little brother into the mattress.

There’s a shout as OtherSam comes, his arm giving way as he faceplants into the mattress. OtherDean makes a vicious noise of victory, pleased with his own prowess as he pushes Sam’s face into the pillow, a few last thrusts taking him over the edge as well. He’s beautiful as he comes, eyes closing and long lashes fanning out over flushed cheeks, muscles tensed into sharp relief across his body. 

There’s only a moment’s pause before he’s bending over OtherSam’s back, nosing into the hair before leaving another bite, causing OtherSam to full-body shudder. 

“Such a good boy for me, Sammy,” he coos, voice an impossible mix of mocking and tender. 

Sam’s legs nearly give out. 

***

He doesn’t sleep much that night, mind flashing from image to image, providing a soundtrack for each. He can’t stop thinking about the beauty and the power of OtherDean, the way he’d so completely owned the situation, the strength in his body to hold down the writhing form of his younger brother. And he’s fascinated by the reaction of OtherSam. He’s never considered sex like that, never sought it out, always encoraged his lovers to soft and slow and respecful, and yet his counterpart had thrived under the roughness, the dominance of his older brother. Sam falls asleep as dawn light would be trickling into any normal bedroom, his dreams plagued with the same images. 

He finds it hard to concentrate on anything but their interactions over the next few days, his own Dean annoyed and snippy with his lack of attention. But Sam’s enthralled, his eyes only for OtherDean now, tracking the other man around the Bunker, looking for hints of the roughness he’d shown OtherSam in the privacy of their own room. But their interactions remain the same as they were before - little touches the speak of tenderness and love, no hint of the wildness they let free at night. The bites are concealed under OtherSam’s collar, the multiple layers now making sense. 

It’s not until the third night that he gives in, allowing himself to imagine that he’s the one under OtherDean, the one being manhandled and bitten, OtherSam off in some nebulous place while OtherDean has his way with Sam. He comes harder than he ever has from his own hand, sped along by the faint noise of his own Dean doing exactly the same thing in the next room, not bothering to hide his noises the way Sam always feels he must. 

There’s something wrong with him in this strange new world, Sam thinks at least twenty times a day. 

Each time followed by the dark, buried recognition that these feelings about his brother have always been here, waiting to crawl their way towards the slightest hint of light. 

***

It’s another two nights before Sam cracks, wrapping himself in the softest shirt he’s stolen from OtherSam before he pads out of his bedroom, closing his door softly to avoid the already-learned creak. He finds OtherSam on his knees, face buried between his brother’s legs, OtherDean’s long, thick cock pushing past his lips again and again. OtherDean is ruthless, not giving OtherSam the chance to breathe, hand fisted in his brother’s hair to keep him in place. 

Sam’s never been a fan of giving blowjobs, finds them boring, would much rather move on to the main event (though he certainly enjoys receiving them, the adoring attention laved on him by his past lovers is almost as good as the orgasm itself). But this… he comes in his boxers for the first time since he was a teenager, two fingers shoved in his mouth mimicking OtherDean’s movements, collapsing against the wall as his palm works over his covered cock. 

***

He’d like to say shame eats him alive the next day, but the truth is his soul feels like it’s moving and resettling into a new place where it’s always been meant to be. He follows his new routine, researching with his own Dean for a place for them to go, a new life for them to live in this strange new world, while all at once terrified of leaving OtherDean and OtherSam, leaving his new addiction. 

Time passes slowly in the Bunker between cases, OtherDean and OtherSam settling easily into shared domesticity, moving around each other seamlessly. He and Dean don’t have that luxury - they needle and prod at each other, snipping and snapping and poking in a way that seems more and more unnecessary as Sam watches their doppelgangers. It’s not that OtherSam and OtherDean don’t tease each other, or bicker, but it feels rote. Now that Sam knows, it feels like foreplay. 

He’s been researching for what feels like hours, town after town after town in Brazil, trying to find one that’s the right fit for him and Dean. He wants a beach, a library, a university; Dean wants cuisine and nightlife - but not nightlife that’s students. He seems to have finally realised he’s too old to fit in with college kids, Sam thinks with a smirk. Nothing yet is quite right, and with a sigh, Sam stands, stretching onto his tiptoes. He really does need to do some yoga tonight - he’s starting to lose his flexibility. 

“Making coffee, Sammy?” Dean asks, looking up from what Sam sincerely hopes is research, rather than OtherDean’s porn stash. 

“Yes, I think I need a break,” Sam replies. 

“Get me one?” 

“What do you want? Vanilla latte or hazlenut?” They’d had to seriously update the Bunker’s coffee supplies when they arrived - apparently OtherSam and OtherDean both took their coffee black and strong enough to stand on its own. 

“Irish me up,” Dean says cheerfully. With an eye roll, Sam thinks he’s not the only one slightly enamoured of OtherDean.

He pads down the hallway to the Bunker’s large kitchen, wondering where OtherSam and OtherDean are. He’s most of the way there when he’s distracted by now-familiar sounds. 

Surely not, he thinks. Not in the middle of the day. 

But he’s irresistibly drawn to it, his body already conditioned to react a certain way as his feet head away from the kitchen. The noises are unmistakable the closer he gets, originating from a storage room deep in the Bunker. 

“Fucking take it, Sammy,” he hears OtherDean grunt over slick, slopping sounds. 

The door is closed but Sam can’t help himself; he reaches out with trembling fingers to nudge at the handle, hoping they’re too occupied to notice. 

OtherSam’s on his knees on the floor, arms crossed behind his back and hair already a wild mess, gazing up to where OtherDean looms above him, completely naked. Sam’s as enraptured as ever with the spray of freckles across OtherDean’s skin, the tight muscles of his biceps as he reaches for OtherSam and above all, the tattoo on his chest marking him as OtherSam’s as much as OtherSam is marked as his. 

There’s spit dripping from the bit of OtherDean’s cock that he can see, hidden as most of it is by OtherSam’s broad back. He’s desperate to edge further into the room, to get a full view of proceedings, but he doesn’t dare risk opening the door more than the crack he’s managed so far. He has no idea how they’ll react to being watched, but judging by how possessive OtherDean seems, he can’t imagine it will go well. 

OtherDean fists his hand back in OtherSam’s hair and pulls him forward viciously, straight down onto his cock. OtherSam’s hands twitch, but they stay behind his back even as his shoulders heave, fingers twisting together. Sam’s own hands shudder in sympathy as he wonders what it would be like to have someone exert control like that. 

OtherDean keeps his movements relatively gentle, holding OtherSam’s head in place but rocking his hips slowly. 

“Love this, don’t you,” he asks, his voice back to that impossible mix of mocking and tender. OtherSam nods around his cock and Sam finds himself nodding too, agreeing even though it’s nothing he’s ever done before. 

“Spread your legs wider,” OtherDean demands sharply, not letting OtherSam pull back at all. It’s such a power move, OtherDean so utterly sure OtherSam will obey, that Sam can’t help the whimper that escapes his mouth. 

OtherDean’s head snaps up immediately, his eyes finding Sam’s where they peep around the door. 

“Oh,” he says, voice dripping mockery now, all the tenderness gone. “Looks like we got an audience, Sammy.”

OtherSam mumbles a protest, trying to pull his head around to look, but OtherDean doesn’t loosen his hold. Sam’s frozen, his fight or flight instinct failing him for the first time in years. 

“You coming in?” OtherDean demands. “Or you happy with just peeping through the door? That how you get your rocks off back home?”

“Absolutely not,” Sam insists, voice weaker than he’d like, pushing the door open. 

OtherDean finally lets OtherSam breathe, multi-coloured eyes so like his own snapping around to look at Sam with an assessing, sly gaze. 

“I bet back home it’s all rose petals and massage oil and soft pretty girls and boring, boring sex,” OtherDean says, amused. Sam doesn’t answer, eyes fixed on OtherDean’s face in an effort to avoid looking down now he’s been caught.

“Well?” OtherDean demands. 

“Not girls,” Sam answers, distracted by the hint of golden hair he can just see above the tangle of OtherSam’s curls. 

“Oh… looks like you're desperate for cock in every reality, Sammy.”

Even from behind, Sam can sense the eyeroll course through OtherSam’s body, but he’s not prepared for the devious look OtherDean shoots down at his little brother. 

“Desperate for yours in every reality, I think,” OtherSam answers, smirking. “He’s desperate to be on his knees right now, I can tell.”

“What makes you think that,” Sam squeaks. He’s never gotten on his knees for anyone in his life. 

“Are you fucking kidding,” OtherSam responds. “You’re basically me. I can tell you’re desperate to get your mouth on this.” He licks a swipe up OtherDean’s cock, that Sam _still can’t see,_ and then directs a challenging gaze at Sam.

“Get over here, then,” OtherDean says, as if it’s already decided, and really, Sam supposes that it is. 

His feet are moving before he knows, drawing him closer to all that freckled skin he wants to touch so badly. He reaches out, his fingertips making it to within an inch of a freckled nipple before OtherDean catches his hand. 

“Sammy said on your knees.”

Sam pauses a moment, tongue licking over his lips, wondering if he can cope with this loss of dignity. But really, that question was answered when he started leaving his room to follow the sounds instead of ignoring them, and he folds to his knees without question. 

“Just as pretty on his knees as you, Sammy,” OtherDean coos. 

OtherSam leans forward and Sam watches avidly, waiting for him to lick, but he nips instead, a mere fraction of an inch away from OtherDean’s balls. 

“Ok, ok,” OtherDean chuckles, pulling him back. “Not quite as pretty as you.”

OtherSam shoots a pleased look upwards, before turning his gaze to Sam. “C’mon then, what are you waiting for? I know you want it.”

Sam does want it… he’s just never sucked cock without kissing before. Or without being wined and dined and made to feel like a prince. He’s sure he should put up some kind of protest.

His thoughts are cut short by OtherDean’s hand gripping his hair, hauling him forwards. “Get on with it,” OtherDean growls. Sam feels pre-come blurt frrom his cock, soaking the front of his slacks, and he leans forward, mouth sliding down immediately. 

It’s like nothing he’s ever experienced before. OtherDean leaves him no leeway whatsoever, directing his pace to his own specifications. Sam’s overwhelmed immediately, mouth full and cock nudging the back of his throat, the taste and smell so like his own Dean but so different at the same time. He’s whining before he knows it, his hips juddering forwards in the same rhythm as OtherDean’s. 

Once the first rush of arousal clears, he’s frustrated to find that he can’t take as much of OtherDean as OtherSam can, can’t get his nose into those blonde curls he’s desperate to feel. He tries harder, trying to relax his throat despite OtherDean’s complete reluctance to slow down or let him acclimate, but it’s no good; he’s going to need more practice if he wants to be able to take all of OtherDean (or any Dean, his traitorous mind supplies). 

“He can’t take you all,” OtherSam says to one side, smugness lacing his voice.

Sam glares as best he’s able with his mouth stuffed full, furious with OtherSam for pointing out his failings. He’s breathing harshly, tears pouring from his eyes, precome smeared across his face, but he’s determined to keep this up, to get a taste of OtherDean. 

A few more thrusts and OtherDean pulls him off, hand fisted tightly in Sam’s hair. "You already had your turn, manbun, watch how a pro does it,” Dean growls, urging OtherSam forward with his other hand. 

OtherSam’s only too pleased to swallow OtherDean down to the root, nose pushing into that space that Sam couldn’t quite reach. OtherDean’s chest rumbles with pleasure, his eyes flicking between both faces as Sam watches OtherSam, desperate for tips. OtherSam’s eyes close as he concentrates, skin flushing rose and Sam wonders if that’s what he looks like: if his lips turn that deep, bruised pin, if his brow furrows in concentration when he sucks. 

OtherDean’s hips are starting to speed up when OtherSam pulls back, a wicked glint in his eyes. Suddenly there’s a second hand in Sam’s hair, pulling Sam close again until his mouth meets OtherSam’s around the head of OtherDean’s cock, OtherSam’s lips slurping against Sam’s.

“Fucking hell,” OtherDean whispers above him, voice completely shot, sounding out of control for the first time since Sam had started spying on them. OtherSam grins at him, sly and knowing and redoubles his efforts, spit stringing out between them as their mouths move. For the first time Sam feels wanted there, feels a sense of kinship with OtherSam rather than being laser-focused on OtherDean

“Always so fucking dirty, Sammy.” Dean’s voice is rough, his hips moving choppily and Sam can’t help it; he reaches down to press against his own erection, palming himself in time with Dean. OtherSam raises an eyebrow but doesn’t say anything and OtherDean doesn’t notice, eyes focused on where the two mouths are wrapped around his cock. 

“Fuck, Sammy, fuck, fuck,” OtherDean chants, cock twitching under their tongues before come shoots out, covering both their faces and sliding between their cheeks as OtherSam pushes forward, apparently determined to get them both as messy as possible. Sam can hardly complain, his own cock pusling hot as he comes in his boxers again, breath heaving as he searches out every bit of taste he can find. 

“Fucking hell,” he hears, voice so like OtherDean’s but without the post-orgasm roughness. 

They turn as one to find Dean in the doorway, motionless except for the twitching erection in his pants. 

**Author's Note:**

> Come find me on Twitter, I'm @soy_em67


End file.
